


Folding Wishes

by countingpaperstars



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bittersweet, Childhood Friends, Ever At Your Side Zine, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Panic Attacks, Picnics, Zine piece, pre-ffxv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 04:48:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20401927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countingpaperstars/pseuds/countingpaperstars
Summary: “I hate them,“ says Noctis. “The daemons.. I hate what the did to me, and what they’ve done to others. How do you stand it?”With late nights and tired eyes, words that turn to nonsense on the page, and impossible searches for a cure. With endless prayers and anger. So much anger. But who would she be if she didn’t try?Prince Noctis arrives to Tenebrae withdrawn and distant, and Lunafreya makes it her personal goal to help him recover from the tragedy he experienced.





	Folding Wishes

**Author's Note:**

> This was my piece for the [Ever At Your Side](https://twitter.com/atyoursidezine) zine! It was interesting to write from Lunafreya's pov, I hope I did her justice!
> 
> Enjoy~

There’s something limitless about the night; about a lamp’s golden puddle spilled in the undefinable space between the early hours. Lunafreya drags her finger beneath a line of text, mouthing the words to retain her focus. Despite her best efforts the characters blur and sharpen in turn as she shakes her head. Impending exhaustion clings to her like viscous fog.

Still she soldiers on, as echoes of her mother’s warnings bounce in her mind. If there’s any way she can help despite her young twelve years and inexperience she can hardly stand by and watch the suffering of others.

“You should rest.”

Lunafreya accepts the blanket Gentiana drapes across her shoulders. It’s only once she’s enveloped in its warm folds that she realizes how cold the room has grown. 

“I will,” she says. “Once I’ve finished reading this.”

With a tilt of her head, Gentiana crosses to peer through the panes of the balcony doors. Outside the world is dark; and ink spilled across the pages of Tenebrae, full of possibilities… and horrors. “The mantle of Oracle rests heavy,” she says. “It has not yet passed to you, who should enjoy her childhood to the fullest.”

“And how can I when others cannot do the same?” Lunafreya grips her pen painfully and Pryna stirs where she lies atop her feet.

Prince Noctis came to them, injured and withdrawn to a shimmering mirage of himself. The child she’d heard so much of, had imagined she’d one day meet. She’d show him the Sylleblossom fields and the misty waterfalls just beyond the garden wall. She’d finally have someone who might understand the similar weight of the responsibilities they face with their countries’ futures entrusted upon their shoulders. But rather the circumstances which brought him here are less than idyllic.

The inked drawing of a daemon scrawled on the page stares up at her as she closes the book. Noctis has remained lost somewhere in his mind, barely present for their introductions let alone willing to connect.

“You’re no help to those who need it if you do not first care for yourself.” Gentiana sets a hand on her shoulder, a soft smile gracing her face. “Time is the most honest of healers.”

Lunafreya clasps her hands tight and offers a prayer to the gods.

She retreats to the gardens the next morning. Her mother has been teaching her the names during tea when the weather warms. Their petals reach towards the grey sky. The vase she brought along is big enough for a handful of blooms, which she arranges carefully as she navigates the manor’s ornate halls.

The doors stand tall, enshrouded with a foreboding air, but still Lunafreya approaches without hesitation. A single knock announces her arrival before she slips into the room.

Noctis sits propped up against the headboard by plush pillows, pale against their rich hue. His eyes flicker over when she steps inside before his gaze slides away towards the window.

Tenebrae’s morning fog has yet to lift and Lunafreya can’t help but feel she’s stepping into the same clouded view as she steps towards the chair by Noctis’ bedside. She places the vase of flowers on the table, admiring the bright bundle of color against the silver and white of the room. A hope flits through her mind, that they will breathe life back into it, and into Noctis in return.

The words she planned stick to her tongue as she takes a seat and finds herself sitting with him in silence. His eyes are distant, glassy like the surface of a pond, and she wants to reach out her hand in reassurance but is unsure how it’d be received. Instead the minutes pass them by, until the quiet peters into a comfortable companionship.

In her mind, she recites her prayers - to the gods, to Eos, to anyone who may be listening. She only realizes her eyes have shut when she finishes and blinks them open to meet Noctis’ startlingly keen gaze. When she smiles he glances away, but he shifts enough for her to know he’s aware of his surroundings.

Lunafreya sits and sits until the energy saps from him, his eyes fluttering shut, and she stands to leave. A hand grasps softly at her own, and she halts.

“Will you come back?” His voice sticks with exhaustion.

“Of course,” she says. “Tomorrow.” 

Noctis leans back, satisfied, and by the time she slips from the room he’s fast asleep.

Her visit turns into two, then three, and on until she’s found in his room more often than not. Often King Regis joins them, asking Luna about her studies as he holds his son’s hand. Some days Noctis is barely there at all - the strenuous healing of his injury sapping the energy from him as they sit in silence. Lunafreya takes to bringing her books with her to read as they keep each other company. Other days she finds him sitting up in bed, roses returning to his cheeks. These are the days she’s fill the space between them with idle talk, telling him of all the exploits she and Ravus would get up to before her brother grew too old to find joy in troublesome escapades. She takes to bringing things with her to entertain them, aware of how boring being confined to bed must be.

Lunafreya folds her paper with a firm crease, pressing it against the hardcover book in her lap. “Did you know they say if you make 1,000 paper cranes your wish comes true?” She bends the nose of her crane into place. “I’m not sure if it’s true, but folding them when I’m sad or stressed or afraid helps me feel better.”

When she passes over the finished product Noctis takes it with careful hands. The bright red paper sits stark in his palms as he gently traces along the wings.

“What would you wish for?” he asks. His voice creaks with disuse, but Lunafreya treasures each gifted word.

She pulls out another square of thin paper and folds it as she thinks. “I would wish for the Scourge to be gone.”

It’s too close - too daemons, to the attack - but she figures if Noctis deserves anything most right now, it’s honesty. When she peers up from beneath her bangs his mouth is twisted.

“Me too.” He sets the crane beside the fresh vase of flowers on his bedside table. “Can you teach me?”

Luna pauses to pass over a thick book and a sheet of paper. “Of course.”

They make their way through a few cranes, her instructions guiding his hands into a shaky reproduction. Noctis’ brow furrows in concentration rather than a twinge of pain and his glee at his finished piece lightens the room like a replacement for the sun that’s been hiding for weeks.

“Good job,” she says proudly, and their eyes meet.

Noctis’ smile doesn’t fade but it crinkles, as if unsure of whether to stay. “Why do you visit so often?”

“I want to be here for you.”

“But why?”

Lunafreya hesitates, then reaches out to cover Noctis’ hand. “Because we’re friends,” she says firmly, “and I promise to remain at your side, as long as you need me.”

Noctis ducks his head, but the corners of his grin peek out from behind his hair. By the time the day comes to an end his nightstand hosts a small army of paper cranes.

The weeks pass and finally the sun parts the fog like butter, spilling into Noctis’ room and reflecting in his smiles and rare laughter. His voice grows stronger along with his countenance, and slowly he heals.

She knows something is wrong when a manor staff rushes past her in the hall leading to Noctis’ room. The echo of her steps hastens in turn and she pushes open the door to find King Regis bent over his son as he screams and sobs in anguish. He strikes out, unseeing, and catches his father in the chin, but the king merely takes Noctis’ hand and continues his stream of reassurances.

Lunafreya’s mother pushes past her and into the room, sleeves pushed up and ready. Not wanting to be in the way, she leaves them be and Noctis’ terror follows her down the hall. She doesn’t sleep that night.

When the storm has passed she makes good on her promise and sits with Noctis when his father is unable. He reaches for her hand on his own now, palms sweaty and knuckles stark as he squeezes tight. The flashbacks and bouts of pain come less and less as the days pass. She takes to reading aloud from a stack of adventure novels, telling him tales of heroes that save the day.

Eventually he recovers enough of his energy to gain her mother’s approval to leave his room in small amounts and Lunafreya arranges a picnic in the gardens. 

She pushes his wheelchair herself, Noctis restless as he stares out the windows restlessly as they pass. He breathes deep when they enter the outer courtyard and Lunafreya follows suit; the fresh air a welcome change. She helps him settle onto a thick blanket that keeps the dew from clinging to their clothes and passes over his meal.

Noctis’ face is pale and drawn in a garden of color, but his eyes are clear as they dart around, taking in the birds that sing and the leaves rustling overhead. Finished with her food, Lunafreya starts in on weaving a crown from the Sylleblossom blooms next to them.

The sun shines down between the trees, casting shapes that sway upon the ground. When the crown is finished she places the wreath on the crown of Noctis’ head, tucking it into his hair. She leaves him space; space to think and reflect, to forget if he wishes. All she knows is that she intends to make good on her promise to be here.

“Luna,” he says, when the shadows have shifted and she’s halfway through another crown. The breeze threatens to steal his confession away. “I hate being scared.” 

She reaches out to take his hand. “It’s okay to be afraid.”

“Are you?”

“Very much so,” she says.

“I hate them,“ says Noctis. “The daemons.. I hate what the did to me, and what they’ve done to others. How do you stand it?”

With late nights and tired eyes, words that turn to nonsense on the page, and impossible searches for a cure. With endless prayers and anger. So much anger. But who would she be if she didn’t try?

“I know that I’m not alone,” she says, “and everyone is working hard to help you and to stop this from happening again, to anyone. You have your father, my mother, and everyone back home by your side.”

“And you?”

Lunafreya smiles. “And me.”

With a firm nod, Noctis relaxes and tilts his head towards the abandoned crown. “Can you show me how to help?”

His free hand brushes the delicate petals and Lunafreya’s heart cracks in her chest. She thinks of the tomes stacked upon her desk, of the will of the gods and Gentiana’s guiding hand.

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Let me know your thoughts down below?
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/countpaperstars) | [writing blog](http://countingpaperstars.tumblr.com) | [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com)


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